


Just Breathe

by FireOpal (Sandel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Community: HPFT, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Internalised ableism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandel/pseuds/FireOpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>21-year-old Dominique Weasley has realised that being an adult is hard, especially if you have an undiagnosed anxiety disorder that you’re trying to keep secret. To help herself deal with everything she starts writing a diary.</p>
  <p>---</p>
  <p>Written for maraudertimes' and The_Crookshanks_Saga's <span class="u">Banner Challenge</span> <i>and</i> jessicalorewrites' <span class="u">diversity challenge</span> over at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Forums.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dominique's First Diary Entry

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/142079) by SlytherinChica08 at The Dark Arts Forum. 



>   
>   
>  Challenge banner by SlytherinChica08 at The Dark Arts forum.

I got one of those ‘Lethifold attacks’ again today. They’ve gotten a lot more frequent since I moved back to England, which is why I’m writing this now. It was Victoire’s idea, really – no wonder; she’s the more ‘writerly’ of us, wanting to be a journalist and all! But yeah, she pointed out that when she was at Hogwarts and I was at Beauxbâtons, writing to her always made me feel better. So she suggested that I should try keeping a diary and see if that works too. It’s probably a good idea, I just don’t really know what to write…

Oh, here’s one thing I should probably write! If you’re reading this (but why would you?) – don’t worry! I’m not  _actually_  being attacked by Lethifolds on a regular basis (they don’t even live in England anyway, so). It just  _feels_  like it. I can be doing just about anything – though it’s usually worse if I’m upset or there are a lot of people around, or… well, a lot of things actually, but… Where was I? Yes, I can be doing something like knitting, or cooking dinner, or hanging out with friends, or…  
  
You know what, I’ll just write about what happened today, that’ll be easier. I’m staying with Grandma and Grandpa Weasley at the Burrow currently, because there’s a lot of room there and it felt better than moving back home to Shell Cottage… Anyway, the thing with the Burrow is that even though only Grandma and Grandpa (and I!)  _live_ there nowadays, it’s still always full of people!  
  
And today it was worse than usual, because Grandma got promoted and wanted to celebrate, so almost all our large family came, and that is a  _lot_. I used to prepare myself mentally for days, sometimes  _weeks_ , before seeing all the Weasley Clan at the same time. But now I can pretty much walk down the stairs from my room and be greeted by, like, twelve people without warning. I hate it.   
  
So, then Uncle Percy started asking about what I was going to do now that I was out of school and if I’d started looking for work yet and if I wanted to work at the Ministry or do something else and then Aunt Hermione heard what we were talking about and came over and I couldn’t think anything but ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m worthless,  _je ne sais pas_ ,  _je ne peux pas_ , I won’t ever do anything right…’ and so on. And then it got difficult to breathe and it felt like something was pressing against my chest. I managed to squawk an excuse and rushed out into the garden.  
  
I hid in some shrubbery and lay on the ground thinking ‘just breathe, just breathe,  _juste respirer_ , just breathe’ as slowly as I could until I calmed down. Well, calmed down  _somewhat_. I didn’t feel ready to go back in or anything. But then Victoire came out with a cup of tea and started looking for me in different greeneries, heh. She knows me so well.  
  
“Did everything become too much again?” she asked. And well. Yes. That’s the perfect way of putting it.  _Ma sœur_ , sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself.  
  
It was actually Vic who started calling the times when I can’t breathe ‘Lethifold attacks’. That was back when we were children and I first told her about them, and she read for me about Lethifolds in Dad’s  _Fantastic Beats and Where to Find Them_.   
  
Victoire Weasley… my older sister, the one person I define my life after. The one I went to Beauxbâtons to get away from, and yet the one I missed the most when I was there.   
  
When we were small, I always disappeared in her shadow – ‘Oh what beautiful daughters you have,  _especially little Victoire_ ’. I know I’m beautiful, denying it would be  _fausse modestie_ , I’m part Veela after all, and I get the attention to prove it. (I hate it,  _hate it, hate it._ )But beside Victoire’s perfection I look odd and asymmetrical.  
  
Well, maybe that’s not so true anymore. Pretty much as soon as Victoire came of age, she coloured her silvery white hair Weasley red and started wearing a fang earring just like Dad’s. Maman was angry but amused, I think, but Grandma Weasley was simply devastated. I’m happy I was in France for most of that drama. By now Victoire’s hair is wine red and shaved off on the front left side. She also has three piercings in her face and a fully transformed Veela tattooed on her left shoulder.   
  
So yeah, her pure and innocent perfection is pretty much gone (though she’s of course as good-looking as ever). I believe she’s overcompensating, running from a beauty she felt trapped by – she never  _chose_ to be a perfect doll girl child.  _She_ says that dating a Metamorphmagus has made her stop seeing her appearance as something constant and fixed.  
  
And I’m left, trying to embody everything the world wanted Victoire to be; a second best copy of an original who has shed her skin. I’m too much a coward to reinvent myself the way Vic has done, and in any case I don’t even know who I want to be. I wouldn’t know what to reinvent myself _into_.  
  
Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had been the older sibling and Vic the younger. She’s the rebellious one, I’m the one who needs to do everything right. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Then people could ask her why she couldn’t be a proper and well-behaved young woman like her older sister. She’d handle those questions much better than I do the ‘When are you gonna surprise us all the way Victoire did?’ ones that I get. It seems that no matter what either of us does, I’ll always have Victoire's shadow hanging over me.  
  
_Bon sang_ , it’s enough that all of my family are war heroes.  
  
So yes, anyway. I was attacked by an imaginary Lethifold and then Vic and I sat in a bush and drank tea and talked about life for like half an hour, until I felt like I could go back in and face the Weasley Clan again (even though I still didn’t feel quite like myself).   
  
Actually, I don’t feel quite like myself even now, when everyone has left and I’ve written all this. But I  _do_  feel a  _lot_ better, actually, quite like I used to do after writing to Vic back in school. I guess I’ll keep this diary thing up, then.   
  
Now I think I’ll work a bit on the scarf I’m knitting for Louis. Knitting is also good for calming down, and I love thinking up designs. And I still need to calm down a bit. So I’m gonna go do that. Now. Er… Bye? (I’m really not good at this writing thing, am I? Oh well.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick guide to the (probably horrible) French in this chapter:
> 
> je ne sais pas = I don’t know
> 
> je ne peux pas = I can’t
> 
> juste respirer = just breathe
> 
> ma sœur = my sister
> 
> fausse modestie = false modesty
> 
> bon sang = literally ‘good blood’, a pretty mild exclamation like ‘darn it’


	2. Dominique's Second Diary Entry

Dear Diary,  
  
(Yeah, I decided to start these little journal notes like this. I know it’s childish, but I feel silly when I just start to write too, and as proved by my last note I didn’t know how to end it, like, at all, so… This makes it looks like a letter more which is what I’m pretending it is. Which is also pretty childish. But I  _did_ feel a bit better last time so I’ll do this even though it’s silly.)  
  
I went to Uncle Fred’s grave today.   
  
I’ve always loved the Ottery St Catchpole cemetery. It’s so peaceful. When I was  _une fillette_ I used to go there with Uncle George and Luna (Lovegood, a friend of my family – she refuses to let anyone call her ‘Aunt’) as often as they’d let me. Actually, I went along with anyone who asked if I wanted to come, but that was mostly Uncle George and Luna.   
  
One time when I was little Uncle Charlie asked me who my favourite aunt or uncle was (obviously wanting me to say him, I realised a few years later, to my utter embarrassment) and I said ‘Uncle Fred’ and all the adults laughed this sad laugh except for Uncle George who just started to cry… I felt horrible and confused and stupid… just like I always do, but a hundred times worse…  _Mon Dieu_ , I was even stupid as a little girl!  
  
_Mais non!_  I should not write things like that, that defeats the purpose of this stupid journal thing. Just… I need a moment to get this out: Stupid Victoire thinking I should write a stupid Journal I should have asked Aunt Ginny instead! She has some right ideas about diaries! So. Now I’m done. Let’s go on.  
  
What was I writing about? Oh, yes, the Ottery St Catchpole cemetery!   
  
It’s one of the places where I always feel like I can breathe freely.  _La beauté et la tranquillité…_  it’s as if they fill me up and become part of me for a short while. The cemetery is on a small hill, with the village’s beautiful old stone church – with its square tower and  _les vitraux_  – and the River Ottery as a backdrop, and the forest surrounding it. I truly believe it’s one of the most beautiful places on this Earth.  
  
I used to always visit it as often as I could when I was home from Beauxbâtons for the summers, but now that I actually  _live_ in England – and right in the same village, even – I haven’t gotten myself to go there even once! I could blame the horrible April weather we’ve been having, but the truth is that I just mope about at the Burrow…  _comme le sot inutile je suis._  
  
Anyway, today I finally got myself together and went to the cemetery, so go me, I guess. I wanted to go there alone, so I went when Grandma and Granddad were both at work, but Grandma gave me some flowers from the garden to put on Uncle Fred’s grave, and called me ‘a good girl’. If she knew that I really only go there for selfish reasons she’d probably hate me…  
  
In the eastern corner of the cemetery there’s a section of graves of witches and wizards… though I’m sure the Muggles don’t know that there’s anything special about that part of the cemetery. Maybe they wonder about the odd names in that section… Luna’s mother was named ‘Philomena’, for example. I put one of my flowers on her grave too… There’s a bench there, right on the edge of the cemetery, almost in the forest, where I sat and just breathed for what felt like hours. I felt so  _en paix_.  
  
Bah, I’m rambling. In short: I went to the cemetery. It was nice. What I actually wanted to write about was what happened when I came back home.  
  
I stayed at the cemetery so long that Grandma was already home making dinner when I returned. She taught me how to make Beef Wellington. It’s basically like  _boeuf en croûte_ except with  _un nom gratuitement britannique_ , so to speak. But it tasted good!  
  
After dinner Grandma asked me if I wanted to work on my knitting together with her. I didn’t really… I prefer to knit alone so I don’t have to worry about anyone seeing me mess up, but Grandma was the one who taught me to knit back in the day, so I couldn’t say no. So we sat with our knittings in front of the fireplace. And then she started to tell me the old story of how she got work with Madam Malkin after the war when everybody wanted one of those ‘Weasley Jumpers’ that all the war heroes wore, and now she has her own collection of knitted robes and her own assistants and so on and so forth…   
  
I thought I knew where she was going with this; I just need to put myself out there and work will find me! But no, this time she had a concrete idea for a place I could work. Apparently Madam Malkin sometimes works together with a Diagon Alley milliner named Madame Cloché. And this Madame Cloché is looking for a new assistant/apprentice after her last one unexpectedly left to become the new driver of the Knight Bus. And now Grandma thinks I should become Madame Cloché’s new assistant!  
  
And, well. I could probably possibly be actually a bit good at being a milliner’s assistant, if I’m honest. I’m pretty good at doing as I’m told, and I can smile prettily for her customers if I have to. And a milliner’s shop couldn’t possibly be as rushed and hectic as Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, right? I hope Uncle Ron and Uncle George don’t get offended if I decide to work at another Diagon Alley shop after I said no to their offer to work there…  
  
And I love hats! I really, really love hats! I loved my Beauxbâtons hat, I love my Muggle hats, I love my everyday hats and I love my dress robe hats! I love tweaking my hats for the occasion and adding extra trimmings and accessories and slightly adjust the colours so they go better with my other clothes…  
  
And also, I need money so I can get a place to live on my own and be a real adult instead of a  _grand enfant_. But apprentice…  _Je ne sais pas._  I took up a lot of time and money by staying an extra year at Beauxbâtons to write an Arithmancy thesis ( _Sur les similitudes et les différences dans les structures Arithmantiques sous-jacentes de la Polynectar et plusieurs sorts de Métamorphose_ , dear God I’m such a swot), and after all that it’d be really irresponsible of me to take up work as a hat maker instead of something to do with Arithmancy, wouldn’t it? But the thought of trying to find Arithmancy work makes me want to die. And I really need money. And, and, and…   
  
And  _hats_. I love hats!  
  
I’ll have to think more on this.  
  
Bye for now, diary!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick guide to the (probably still horrible) French in this chapter:
> 
> une fillette = a little girl
> 
> Mon Dieu = My God
> 
> Mais non! = But no!
> 
> la beauté et la tranquillité = the beauty and the peacefullness
> 
> les vitraux = stained glass windows
> 
> comme le sot inutile je suis = like the useless fool I am
> 
> en paix = at peace
> 
> Je ne sais pas. = I don’t know.
> 
> grand enfant = overgrown child
> 
> boeuf en croûte = crusted beef, a kind of French food
> 
> un nom gratuitement britannique = a gratuitously British name
> 
> Sur les similitudes et les différences dans les structures Arithmantiques sous-jacentes de la Polynectar et plusieurs sorts de Métamorphose = On the similarities and differences in the underlying Arithmantic structures of the Polyjuice Potion and several Transfiguration spells
> 
> Apparently Google Translate knows the official French translation of ‘Polyjuice Potion’, haha.


	3. Dominique's Third Diary Entry

Dear Diary,  
  
I took the milliner job! I thought I’d write about it here like, ten times or something before I made a decision, but I sorta talked to Vic instead… which is what these writing exercises are meant to emulate, so… But now it’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep and I can’t talk to Vic  _now_ and oh dear god my first day is tomorrow.  
  
Everybody expects me to be all  _joyeux_ , but I just want to curl up into a ball, drink copious amounts of tea, cry, and… no. Let’s not go there. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re writing this to calm down and take your mind off those things.  
  
All right. So. Vic said it isn’t my responsibility to stay a milliner for my whole life just because I’m taking a job at age 21, and that Mme Cloché can’t expect that of me. And when she said it it sounded very reasonable and common sensical, but still. You don’t hire someone as an apprentice if you don’t want them to take over your business one day, do you? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll love making hats and take over the business and just make all my teachers and Mme Maxime disappointed instead…  
  
_Or_ I’ll do everything wrong and it’ll turn out I have no taste and everybody has just been humouring me and I’ll just have wasted Mme Cloché’s time. Or even worse, she’ll think I’m amazing at first and then in five weeks or five months or five years she’ll realise that I’m a  _désastre_ and she’ll hate me.  
  
And now that I’ve accepted the job I have to smile and act all happy to everybody and they congratulate me and ‘joke’ about how amazing it is that I finally got a job and I hate them all. I know I’m a failure, you don’t have to tell me, thanks.  
  
Victoire is the only one who knows about my worries.  _Mon Dieu_ , that’s true about so many things it’s not even funny. But it goes both ways, at least. We keep each other’s secrets, you know. I helped her keep her relationship with Teddy Lupin (relatively) secret for all those years. Now everybody knows about them, of course… But almost no one knows about me, and I want to keep it that way.  
  
The first time I wrote in this journal, I said that the reason I choose to go to Beauxbâtons instead of Hogwarts to get away from Victoire. Well, that’s not entirely true. To be completely honest I didn’t chose Beauxbâtons  _just_ to get away from Victoire – the fact that I got to stay with Maman and Dad for an extra year and a half was a big incentive too… I was a very anxious child, always hiding in my parents’ robes. And now I’m an anxious adult, and I have nowhere to hide.  
  
It’s ridiculous. First I didn’t want to leave home to go to school, and then I didn’t want to leave Beauxbâtons to go back to England, and  _now_ I don’t want to work, and you’ll see – when I get enough money to get my own place I’ll not want to leave the Burrow either! I don’t want to be  _un adulte_! I want to be a child and hide under the covers with my big sister again!  
  
Maman and Dad think going off to Beauxbâtons made it better. And well, it did make it better, but it didn’t make it go away completely. _Évidemment._  
  
Oh well. I should probably write about how  _actually_ I’m pretty decent at hats, and have a good work ethic, and Madame Cloché was very nice when I met her though of course you can’t judge a person by just one meeting and maybe we’ll be at each other’s throats in a week. No!  _Garder une attitude positive_ , Dominique!  
  
I guess I could write a bit about Mme Cloché. So… Well, when we met she wore the most amazing little hat, purple and peaked without being pointed, and with a small bullfinch decoration that sang this lovely little sad bird song when she stroked it. She’s half French just like me and she made a joke about us both having ‘the French touch’ and it sounded dirty and I sniggered and she wrinkled her nose and I wanted to die. But other than that it went well. I mean, well enough for her to want to hire me, obviously, so…  
  
Oh god, oh god, oh god. I think I might be hyperventilating. Bah, this isn’t working, I’m just getting worked up about things and writing them down, instead of just thinking them. I knew this stupid diary thing was a bad idea. I should listen to Aunt Ginny more.  
  
Sigh.  _Détendre._ I’ll go down and ask grandma if she has any sleeping potion ready, instead. If she doesn’t I’ll have to make one myself, because I’ll definitely not be able to sleep like this.   
  
So I’ll just get to that, then. Right. Breathe, Dominique, breathe. Just breathe.   
  
_Bonne nuit_ , diary.   
  
(Oh god I’m going to be a mess tomorrow.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More horrible French, yay!
> 
> joyeux = happy, cheerful
> 
> désastre = disaster
> 
> Mon Dieu = My God
> 
> un adulte = an adult
> 
> Évidemment = Obviously
> 
> Garder une attitude positive = Keep a positive attitude
> 
> Détendre = Relax
> 
> Bonne nuit = Good night


	4. Dominique's Fourth Diary Entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Dominique is extra harsh on herself in this chapter. 
> 
> Among other things, she refers to herself as ‘broken’. I want to make it clear that this is just how Dominique views herself, and that I, the author, do not in any way believe that people with Anxiety disorders (or other mental illnesses) as ‘broken’ or in need of being ‘fixed’.

I am a failure of a person.  
  
I’m a mess.  
  
I screwed up.  
  
_Je suis nullarde._  
  
And everything was going so well, too.  
  
Shush, Dominique! Don’t cry. Calm down. Breathe.  
  
I mean:  
  
“Dear Stupid, Ridiculous Diary…”  
  
Ah, this is so stupid. I would Apparate over to Victoire’s if I wasn’t so ashamed of myself I don’t want anyone to see me.  _Plus jamais._  
  
But yeah. Everything  _was_ going so well. I haven’t written here for almost three months now. I loved being Mme Cloché’s apprentice. I almost maybe could even see myself being a milliner  _pour de vrai_ , and maybe just doing a little academic writing on the side perhaps. I was even close saving up enough money to afford to move out of this madhouse of an overcrowded and overgrown hovel.  
  
And now I’ve messed it all up and I’ll be stuck here for ever and never amount to anything and everyone will be disappointed in me, even Victoire! And Maman, and dad, and Grandma, and Mme Maxime, most of all! No! Mme  _Cloché_ most of all! Oh,  _par Morganne_!  
  
Oh god, oh god, oh god, mon Dieu. Breathe. Breathe. I’ll probably  _die_ if I get another Lethifold attack today. Deep breaths.  _Juste respirer_ …  
  
This writing thing isn’t working.  
  
I need to go to the cemetery.

* * *

Oh, wow. I should probably write more. Explain what really happened earlier today, now that I've calmed down. And write about what happened after I wrote the above, too. I met someone in the cemetery…  
  
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I should probably explain what happened today… well, yesterday, technically, because the clock is past twelve in the night now, dear Merlin. I’d never have thought I could talk for so long to  _un inconnu_. Aaaand I’m getting ahead of myself again, haha.  
  
So. Today I was going to close the shop by myself, because Mme Cloché had to leave early to go to her granddaughter’s naming ceremony. It wasn’t even the first time I closed the shop be myself. I’ve done it twice before, and it’s been fine, because almost no one comes in after, like, five o’clock anyway. Well. Except today. Because the universe must hate me. (Or maybe not, because then I met Hector. Let’s pretend this parenthesis doesn’t exist.)  
  
So. We close at seven on Thursday nights, and Mme Cloché left at half past five, so I thought I’d just sit behind the counter reading the latest issue of  _The Arithmancer_  and maybe handle one or two customers. And I don’t know what happened. One moment I was helping a lovely old witch pick out a hat with a concealed warming charm, because she was ashamed of how easily she felt cold, and the next the whole shop was a disaster!  
  
Suddenly there was like at least ten people in the crowded little space of the shop, but it felt more like fifty. And everyone was either trying to get my attention or toppling over a stack of hats or something, and at least two of the wizards were leering at me the way some men do when you’re part Veela (or possible just a young girl!), and a small child was crying, and a slightly larger child accidentally turned a hat into a birthday cake, and I couldn’t breathe, and the Lethifold was tightening around my chest, and I was crying and really, really _furieux_  at the same time, and I just screamed “OUT! OUT! GO AWAY!” and I pulled out my wand and cased everyone out and put a locking charm on the door. And then I just sat down on the floor and cried even though I still could hardly breathe.  
  
And when I felt slightly better I just Apparated home. Now that I think about it I think I left that one hat as a birthday cake still. So even if I don’t get fired as I was sure I would before, I’m pretty sure Mme Cloché will still be pretty angry with me. Oh well. I can’t even bring myself to care right now, I’m too tired and cried out. And I’m calmer, because… Well. You’ll see!  
  
So, yeah, then I wrote all that stuff above about being a failure, and then I went to the cemetery. And then I met Hector!   
  
Well, not immediately. First I set at my stone bench and cried some more. I was a lot calmer than before, though, the Lethifold feeling was gone, and the cemetery calmed me down some more, as it always does. And then when I looked up and wiped away  _mes pleurs_ , and then I saw him. This tall, beautiful black man who was walking among the gravestones, singing to himself. He wore muggle clothes, but I’ve never seen a muggle man dress so well before! He wore a deep blue shirt, and a flowy grey coat, and black trousers that fit almost  _too_ well, _si vous voyez ce que je veux dire_...  
  
Needless to say, I was entranced. Is this how people feel when they watch me, or Victoire, or Maman, or Grand-mère? If so, I can almost forgive their staring. Almost.  
  
But even though he was, like, a vision from above or something, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to see me. I was thinking of sneaking away into the forest to Apparate home, when I suddenly heard that he was singing in French!  
  
_Non, rien de rien_  
_Non, je ne regrette rien_  
  
Together with his whole appearance I took it as like a… a sign, or something, that I shouldn’t run away. And I’m so happy I trusted in that, because… wow.  
  
He kept walking towards me, and then he saw me, and he saw that I had been crying. Actually, I was probably still crying a little. And then he asked me if I was all right, with this lovely melodic voice with a French accent… and he sounded so much like Maman, and he had such kind and understanding brown eyes, and I just… I don’t know, it was as if some… some… some holding spell broke down  _dans ma poitrine_ and I just told him… everything.  
  
Well, not  _everything_ , of course. He’s a muggle, and there’s that damned Statue of Secrecy to remember at all times. I should be proud of myself for not messing it up. I think my story probably didn’t make any sense here and there, but hopefully he just thinks it was because I was so upset.  
  
Anyway, when I’d told him everything I could, he said something wonderful! He said that my Lethifold attack… which I obviously couldn’t call it when I was talking to him, so I just described it… he said it sounded like a ‘ _crise d'angoisse_ ’, or ‘panic attack’ in English, and that I probably suffer from Anxiety. Like, not just ‘anxiety’, but capital A Anxiety, which is something called a ‘mental illness’, that muggle doctors can help with! I’m not the only one who get these ‘panic attacks’! I can go to a psy-cho-lo-gist and get help! That’s wonderful news. Maybe I’m not irrevocably broken. Maybe I can be fixed.  
  
Anyway, Hector told me he’s from Algeria, and he’s here in England visiting family over the summer. He’s a musician. I didn’t learn that much more about him, really… We really only talked about me, but somehow I didn’t feel selfish about it. He was just so nice to me. He could tell I didn’t want to be touched, so he gave me this smooth rock he’d found to hold onto when I came to the worst parts of my story…  
  
We talked for so long that it got completely dark outside and we had to say goodbye and go home to sleep but he gave me his tellephone number. I’ll ask Aunt Hermione or Aunt Audrey about how tellephones work so I can call to him. Tomorrow.  
  
Now I need to sleep.  
  
_Bonne nuit!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More French:
> 
> Je suis nullarde. = I am hopeless.
> 
> Plus jamais = Never, ever again
> 
> pour de vrai = for real
> 
> par Morganne = by Morgan [le Fay]
> 
> Juste respirer = Just breathe
> 
> un inconnu = a stranger
> 
> furieux = angry
> 
> mes pleurs = my tears
> 
> si vous voyez ce que je veux dire = if you get what I mean
> 
> Maman = Mum
> 
> Grand-mère = Grandma (that is, Apolline Delacour)
> 
> Non, rien de rien//Non, je ne regrette rien = the chorus of the song Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Charles Dumont and Michel Vaucaire, famously sung by Édith Piaf (and the translation is "No, nothing of nothing//No I regret nothing")
> 
> dans ma poitrine = in my chest
> 
> crise d'angoisse = panic attack
> 
> Bonne nuit! = Good night!


	5. Dominique's Fifth Diary Entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: More internalised ableism from Dominique

Dear Diary,  
  
Oh, this is the day!  
  
I can’t  _believe_  how much has happened in less than a week!  
  
Mme Cloché let me have the week off from work. Well… in fact she  _insisted_  I took some time off. “Preferably a whole month or even more,” she said. “And then we have to have a serious conversation about what happened here yesterday.”   
  
I apparently left the shop in an even worse state than I remembered, and some hats were stolen or destroyed, and she had to bring in a team of cleaning wizards to scrub  _frog brains_ off the walls… I must have blacked out or something, I have no memories of anything frog brain-related happening…   
  
But at least Mme Cloché seems willing to take me back… well, on a trial basis, at any rate. She was  _very_ angry when I last saw her. She said I should have told me that I couldn’t handle the shop  _sur le mien_ , and she would have brought someone in to help me. “And then everything would have been fine!” Yeah, sure, I should have just told you that I’m a crazy person! That would not have been scary at all and would obviously have worked out fine!  
  
No. Calm down, Dominique!  _Respirer_.I refuse to get worked up over this.  _Pas aujourd'hui._  Today I need to keep calm. Because today I’m seeing a the-ra-pist for the first time. A therapist is some sort of muggle Mind Healer. Hector told me all about them. It’s apparently sort of the same thing as those psy-cho-lo-gists he talked about that time when we first met at the cemetery, but also sort of different? Muggles and their specificity! Louis still hasn’t gotten over that muggles have specific Healers for their teeth, and Aunt Hermione must have explained it to him  _mille fois_!  
  
Ah, and speaking of Louis… He’s home from Hogwarts for the summer now. And he’ll be here soon. Because he and Victorire are going to come with me to the therapist appointment. For  _soutien moral_. (Oh, and he loved the scarf I mentioned knitting for him way back, by the way. I can do some things right, after all. I just have to remember that.)  
  
It was Hector’s idea to bring someone (or someone s, as it turns out) I trust with me to the appointment. He offered to come himself, but I declined. He’s been great,  _vraiment très bien_ , but I don’t trust him like that… yet. (I might, some day! But I won’t let my hopes run away with me like they always do, and I always end up disappointed.) And besides, I’ve already imposed on him enough. I’ve tellephoned with him almost every day since that fateful day a week ago, and we’ve even met once again at the cemetery. That time I even let him pat my arm. (Maybe some day he’ll be the seventh ever person in the world who can hug me without me wanting to run away and cry! But yes. No  _grands espoirs_. Calm down, Dominique.)  
  
Aaaah, the clock just struck one. That’s when Victoire and Louis are supposed to arrive here. Aaand… yes! I can hear Vic yelling for me from the living room. (I wonder if Lou can Apparate by himself now, or if he side-alonged… or maybe they took the Floo from Shell Cottage…) Oh, Merlin. I’ll go downstairs in a moment, I just have to  _recueillir moi-même_. Deep breaths. You’re prepared for this, Dominique. You can do it.  _Croyez en vous!_  
  
I’ve tellephoned at the therapist already, so I know what she sounds like. She seemed nice. Maybe  _un peu condescendant_ , but I probably just imagined that. I have to get better at telling people’s intentions and my own emotions apart, I think. Vic has been telling me that for years… I thought she was _naïve_  and that I was better at seeing people’s  _motifs cachés_ , but if there really is something overarchingly wrong with me, then maybe she’s been right all along. That’d explain how she got that internship at The Quibbler despite being, in my opinion, completely unable to sniff out the very littlest concealed design, I guess… Hm…  
  
But yeah. This is gonna be fine. Vic and Lou are going to be with me. I’ll telephone to Hector afterwards. He says I can speak to him for as long as I need. And we’ll meet again at the cemetery tomorrow. And Grandma has promised to make me my favourite food when we come back home (today, that is). Mmmm, _tourin_  and  _joconde_ … And Dad and Maman will be here, too! Everyone will be taking care of me, and I won’t let myself feel like  _un grand bébé_  over it, because everybody needs someone to take care of them sometimes. That’s what Hector says, at least. And he was right that telling more people than just him and Victoire would be a good idea, so I’m inclined to trust him. (He even let me borrow his ‘thermos’ so I can bring hot tea along for the ‘waiting room’ at the therapist without using magic.)  
  
So yes. This will work out fine. Just breathe, Dominique. You’re getting help now.  _Tout v_ _a bien se passer._  
  
Just breathe.  
  
Bye, Diary.  
  
PS. Oh, and wish me luck!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last list of butchered French:
> 
> sur le mien = on my own
> 
> Respirer = Breathe
> 
> Pas aujourd'hui. = Not today.
> 
> mille fois = a thousand times
> 
> soutien moral = moral support
> 
> vraiment très bien = really great
> 
> grands espoirs = high hopes
> 
> recueillir moi-même = collect myself
> 
> Croyez en vous! = Believe in yourself!
> 
> tourin = a sort of French garlic soup
> 
> joconde = a sort of French almond sponge cake
> 
> un grand bébé = a big baby
> 
> un peu condescendant = a little condescending
> 
> naïve = naive (shocker, I know)
> 
> motifs caches = hidden motives
> 
> Tout va bien se passer = Everything will be all right


End file.
